


I shall not want honour in Heaven

by Dionysiaca



Series: Cats and Dogs [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cats and Dogs universe, Dorian finally gets his transplant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dionysiaca/pseuds/Dionysiaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian finally gets his kidney transplant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I shall not want honour in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the Cats and Dogs universe. If you haven't read the earlier stuff, it won't make any sense. 
> 
> A thank you to the reader who asked me to get Dorian his kidney transplant. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> This is the last of Cats and Dogs. A huge thank you to all who read it, to my lovely beta, WitchoftheWaste, and an especially heartfelt thank you to those who left kudos and comments.

_Standing by a new grave._

_Cold, cold in heart, Cold to the bare bone._

_The smell of the huge wreath of Easter lilies._

_The hope of resurrection._

_The only hope left._

* * *

The low, beautiful voice was murmuring something.  Cullen leaned closer to catch the words.

‘I shall not want Honour in Heaven/  For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney/And have talk with Coriolanus/  And other heroes of that kidney’. The voice drew out the word ‘kidney’. 

‘He’s coming round,’ said the nurse.

‘That’s what coming round sounds like?’

The smooth, low voice went on, without a pause.

‘Coriolanus is incredibly hot, actually.  Fucked up and fuckable. I’d like him to possess me in front of the Senate building, up the arse, while his friend Aufidius watched us both. You could possess Aufidius, my little soldier boy beloved. He’d like a man of your - calibre.’  He said the last word on a long sigh, with eyes closed.  ‘But not Sidney.  He’s not my type.’

Cullen felt his face grow pink. The trouble was that even Dorian at death’s door was still hotter than anyone he’d ever met.

‘Dorian –‘

The heavy lids lifted.  Those enormous grey eyes looked into Cullen’s. ‘I’m babbling, aren’t I?’

‘I don’t mind.’ 

‘It’s quality babble.  T S Eliot.  He wasn’t in the _least_ queer.’ 

Cullen had heard of T S Eliot in that vague way you have heard of people nobody ever reads.  Except Dorian, perhaps.  Who was speaking again, and Cullen sat still and drank in the voice.

‘It’s annoying when other people put it into the best words first, and leave me only a pale shadow, a faint little ghost.’ 

His lips formed more words.  Cullen leaned forward. He didn’t want to miss a syllable. 

‘Or you know the one I always used to say to you, ‘lay your sleeping head, my love/Human on my faithless arm’?’ 

‘Is that the one that ends by calling me beautiful?’

The lovely, pale face smiled.

‘In my arms till break of day/Let the living creature lie,/Mortal, guilty, but to me/The entirely beautiful.’ Which you are.  My golden angel, my hero, my love.’

‘Why do you keep quoting poetry?’

‘Well, I’m officially a monster now, comprised of pieces of other men.’ 

‘You are too beautiful to be a monster.’

‘And you are too beautiful even to be an angel. Much too beautiful. Much too austere. Have you come to take me to heaven?  I’d rather have you than Sir Philip Sidney.’

‘You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.’

* * *

‘How is he doing?’ He didn’t look up at the doctor’s face. He wasn’t ready for what kindness he might see there.

‘Well, as you know, we won’t really know how it went till ten days or so go by.  But so far it looks as good as we can hope for.’ 

‘When will we know if he’s rejecting it?’

‘That doesn’t happen often. Not with all the gene matching.’

‘Yeah. The gene matching.’

‘Don’t worry over that, Mr Rutherford.’

‘I’m not.  It’s just that –‘

The doctor smiled.

‘I understand, but you weren’t a good enough match. And acute rejection is rare. Also he’s a young and healthy man, and very physically fit. An infection is very unlikely.’

Cullen swallowed. ‘Infection?’

‘If it happens at all, it’s usually in much older patients.  His chances are reduced because the kidney came from an accident victim.’ _A dead body_ , Cullen thought. ‘It can be a problem because of the immunosuppressive drugs he has to take, especially in the first few months. And he has to be as regular as clockwork with those, Mr Rutherford. If he misses even one dose it can be pretty serious. The side effects can be a bit difficult at first – nausea, vomiting, hair growth -’

‘Hair growth?’ For a second Cullen pictured Dorian covered in glossy black fur like a lithe panther.  It was strangely enchanting.

‘Bottom line is, he needs to take enough of his medicines to prevent organ rejection, but not so much that his risk of infection gets too high. And it’s really important he takes simple precautions. You should read this. She pressed a leaflet into Cullen’s hand.

Cullen read it carefully. It made him feel as if he was doing something for Dorian. 

  * Wash your hands often. Hand washing is an excellent way to reduce exposure to germs. It's especially important before you eat.



Shopping list, then.  Scented, anti-bacterial soap, ideally from Penhaligon’s or Santa Maria Novella.  If it smells vile, he won’t use it.

  * Avoid people who are sick. It's best to limit contact with anyone who has a cold or any other infection like measles or chicken pox



Fine.  Dorian would be working from home, then, over skype.  Colleagues have children. Children have germs. Dorian couldn’t be near that.

  * Avoid people who have been recently vaccinated. Some vaccines, such as the new nasal flu vaccine or the measles vaccine, have a living virus in them. These could be a risk to people with weak immune systems.



Fine.  Sam could be trained to keep children away. To keep all people away, really.

  * Stay out of crowded areas. For example, avoid malls and movie theatres.



Fine. Dorian would never be leaving the apartment again.

That was absolutely ok.  He could work from home; Cullen had already decided that. And Cullen could work from home.  They could reactivate the Netflix subscription, and get a home cinema.  Actually it sounded good.    

Then Cullen saw one that wasn’t fine. 

  * Don't take care of pets. Pets carry germs, so limit your exposure to them. You don't have to kick them out of the house. Instead, look at this as an excuse to make your spouse or kids clean out the litter box for a change.



He felt himself go tense. Because he just knew that Dorian wouldn’t dream of having less to do with Niko or the Seven Sinners than before. 

He would, literally, rather die.

At least they didn’t have to rehome the kitties and Sam. 

So there had to be a sensible plan, one involving Cullen getting up early every day and boiling the food bowls and cleaning out all litter trays and mopping the floorboards with a disinfectant and then showering drenched in chlorine bleach for ten minutes before getting back into bed to hold Dorian in his arms, plus being present at all times to wrap Dorian in wool and blankets so no cat could ever scratch him. 

Yeah. That would work.  That would really, really work. Yeah, it would. 

  * Brush and floss daily. Both help keep your mouth free of infections. Have your teeth cleaned regularly.



Dorian brushed at least twice daily. He worried about morning breath and about even the most undetectable sign of food on teeth.  So that one was already sorted. 

  * Don't ignore cuts or scratches. Clean them and put on a bandage. Get in touch with your health care provider if you have any signs of infection.



Fine.  Fine. Add plasters to shopping list.  Add antiseptic. Add surgical gloves for self to allow application of same. And add a dozen soft fleece sweatshirts for Dorian so he could still let Zophiel climb all over him. 

And then he saw the one which made his heart shrink and shrivel.

  * Practice very safe sex. Sexually transmitted diseases such as herpes can be a problem for anyone. But they can be dangerous for people who have had an organ transplant. Condoms may not be enough to fully protect you. Even saliva can expose you to colds and viruses. So be careful. Ask your health care provider about what's safe in your case.



So.

If he’d read that right, it meant no kisses, no oral, no penetration of any kind. Was fingering ok? Was rimming ok? Was frot ok? You could get an infection from frot. HPV. And it would be too late for Dorian to get a vaccine. Did it matter who was bottom, and who topped?  Usually it did. And you couldn’t get HIV from being sucked off; only the sucker could get it.  But if herpes could kill Dorian, then no sucking, he guessed. 

He felt his palms begin to grow sweaty.

As far as he could see, safe sex was handjobs, with lube, but without kisses or tonguebaths. 

There was absolutely no chance Dorian would buy that. An image popped into his head, himself approaching Dorian, holding out a blue dental dam, trying to smile, and Dorian’s expression, darkening, the delicate eyebrows drawing together, and then the soft voice saying ‘Is this supposed to be a joke?’ 

And Dorian wouldn’t accept that kind of constraint.  Not for long, anyway. 

Cullen swallowed. Hard.  If he imposed this regime on Dorian, he would probably walk out.

If he didn’t, he might die.

_Every way you look at this you lose._

Except…he’d already won. Won Dorian back from those men who had tried to kill him because they found his bright beauty an offence, won him back from the damage done to his body. The very fact that Dorian had ever kissed him made his whole life a triumph.

Every day was a gain.  Every hour, every minute. Though the thought that it might not last forever made his whole body go tight and furious. 

The thing now was to go back and make sure Dorian was ok now.  The thing was to say _now_ to himself a lot.  Life from here was pieces of now. 

Including this one, this piece. There would be no _nows_ without fear. No _nows_ without the shadow of death.  And he knew he would never get used to it.  The fear and the love were tied together. As long as he loved, he would be afraid. 

Dorian was asleep, so Cullen sat and watched him sleep.  That was ok. Better than ok. 

It let Cullen really look at Dorian and let him see the dark circles under the eyes and the pallor and the way his nose looked subtly thinner.  The hand in his was warm.  Too warm?  Was a fever building? The monitoring machines sensed nothing; they went on with cheerful pings. 

Cullen drowsed in their orbit. 

What made him wake, suddenly, was Dorian’s voice. 

‘Longing, of course,/become its own object, the way/that desire can make anything into a god.’

‘What?’ He felt such a huge clod. He never knew anything about all the poets or artists or music-makers Dorian knew about.  But he understood the last bit, about how desire makes someone into a god. 

‘It’s by Mark Doty. It’s about Antinous.’ 

‘Who was Antinous?

‘The beloved boy of the Emperor Hadrian. Hadrian was emperor of Rome. He ruled the world, but he couldn’t keep his beloved from drowning in the Nile. Hadrian was ill, and some people think Antinous sacrificed himself deliberately to make Hadrian well.’

‘Did he get well?’ _Because you know I’d do that for you._

 ‘I don’t know, but he lived for a while afterwards, and never got over the loss.  He said Antinous had become a god, and he built temples to him, and in every one of the towns of the empire there was a statue or a bust of Antinous. Lots were damaged later, by pagans and then by Christians.’

‘So – don’t be Antinous. Is that the message?’

‘Or the message might be _this is as good as it gets_.  Commitment. Actual love as opposed to sex. Actual efforts to transcend not just death but life.’

Cullen had no idea what to say to all this. He often found words horribly worrying things. They could cut, or they could crush with blunt trauma, like clubs. He wanted to stop talking and to hold Dorian. He wanted to say simple things, things like _don’t leave me_ , and _I’ll never leave you, never_ and _well, I’d die for you_.  These would not be enough, though. 

They would also be the wrong words. Dorian’s words were graceful and swooping, swallows or gulls, while Cullen’s words waddled behind, earthbound. 

Eventually, he made a noise like ‘ah.’  And followed it with ‘hmm.’

‘Oh, beloved,’ Dorian said. ‘I’m being so boring.’ 

‘No, you’re not.’

‘When they let me sit up we can play chess.  That will be better.’

‘I’m not bored. Really. I’m not.’

‘You are sweet.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

Dorian closed his eyes. ‘Egyptian cotton sheets. A big bunch of old-fashioned roses. A Diptyque scented candle. Or Jo Malone, but in that case it must be Pomegranate Noir – appropriate, since I’m coming back from the underworld. Then a double espresso – Illy, of course – and a coffee macaroon. Seven kittens and a dog. Niko. Your hands. Your mouth. Your cock. Your mouth on my cock.’ 

‘Which do you want first?’

The grey eyes narrowed.

‘Given our recent – experiences – I think we should leave the last three or four until I get home.’

Cullen licked his lips. ‘Well – even then – the drugs you have to take –‘

Dorian put a hand over Cullen’s mouth. ‘I’d rather die tomorrow than live without – any of that. All of that.’

‘But –‘   He was speaking through Dorian’s fingers, against his palm. Impossible not to kiss that palm.  Impossible not to kiss passionately, mouth open.

‘All of it, Cullen. All of it.’

‘But – the list – you’re not meant to –‘

‘I know. I read it before the op. I don’t care.’

Cullen felt his heart bound and also felt his throat close with dread.

‘It’s a risk, darling. It’s all a risk. But if I fold myself up into cotton wool, and I don’t love you with my mouth, and I don’t let you love me, that’s a certainty, and a horrible one. I won’t live longer; it will just feel longer.’   

Cullen cleared his throat. ‘It – might feel longer to me too.’

‘Of course it would, dearest.’

‘I can‘t lose you.’

‘But if you can’t kiss me or fuck me, if I can’t suck you and you can’t suck me, in what sense do you have me? You’d have lost me already.’  

Cullen sat silent.  He looked down at his hands.  ‘Then he looked at Dorian. He saw a smile, a battle smile, a smile that ranged itself against death fast or slow.

He smiled back, against his will and against all common sense.

Then, very slowly, he tore the leaflet on postoperative care across and across, and let the pieces flutter to the floor. 

‘Thank the gods,’ Dorian said. ‘Because how could we possibly explain to Niko and Zophiel?’

* * *

‘You know what I’d like to do? Go and see the grave of the boy whose kidney I wear.  Take some flowers. I owe him every second from now.’

They stood above the fresh-made grave, Sam beside them. The wind blew cold, but Dorian’s hand was warm in his. Cullen faced into the cold.  It would be like this. But it would _be._

**Author's Note:**

> A word of warning: while the information Cullen reads is from a real website for real transplant patients, be it understood that I am not advocating reckless disregard of instructions. 
> 
> A rambling post-operative Dorian quotes a lot of poetry. The title poem is ‘A Cooking Egg’ by T. S Eliot. He also quotes W H Auden's ‘Lullaby’, and Mark Doty's ‘The Death of Antinous’. The poem right at the beginning is my own. *hides*
> 
> I MAY do an offshoot of this universe which takes Cullen to a pet grooming parlour.


End file.
